


Cookies Prompt - A Fluffy Castiel Drabble

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Fluffy drabble based on the item/object prompt: Cookies





	

Castiel stood mid-aisle, jaw clenched, shoulders squared for battle, squinting at the infinite assortment of packaged cookies lining the shelves.

“Can I help you find something, sir?” A bespectacled store clerk timidly inquired, having been dispatched by another customer to investigate the peculiar man in a trench coat muttering to himself in the snack aisle.

The blue-eyed angel shook his head, retrieving the phone from his pocket, “No.”

The clerk persisted in hovering nearby, idly rearranging the Double Stuf Oreos, the plastic wrap crinkling loudly.

Cas frowned at your smiling image on the phone, finger hesitating over the call button, the well-meaning clerk only serving to heighten his frustration. He jammed the phone back into his pocket, glowering at the clerk through clenched teeth, tone harsh, “No, thank you.”

The clerk twitched in his skin, jumping back from the shelf, “Right, okay.” He gestured over his shoulder, “I’ll just…,” and off he scampered.

Cas rolled his eyes, focus once again settling on the colorfully stocked shelves. You’d asked him for cookies. You weren’t feeling well, and Cas insisted on helping. When you wouldn’t let him heal you, citing personal reasons you’d rather not discuss just then, he’d asked if you needed anything. All you desired were cookies. It seemed simple enough, until he got to the store and faced the vast selection. And there he’d stood for nigh on thirty minutes, quietly reading off the various brand names, attempting to discern what exactly you’d meant when you said cookies. He refused to concede defeat to your request for mass-produced sugary bite-sized baked goods.

* * * * *

“Cas?” You heard a clamor from the bunker entrance. Closing your book, you made your way to the map room.

The angel had what appeared to be somewhere in the range of twenty heavily swaying grocery bags draped over and stuffed precariously under his arms and one swinging from between clenched teeth.

You rushed half-way up the steps to meet him, relieving him of some of the burden, “What in Chuck’s name did you buy?”

The words were garbled as he attempted to speak around the plastic bag in his mouth.

“Shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” you chuckled, turning and bounding down the stairs, tossing your bags up on the map table.

Cas followed suit, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Are these all…,” you rummaged through the bags wide-eyed, realizing they all contained…

“Cookies,” Cas beamed back at you, a proud grin tugging up the corners of his mouth.


End file.
